Dear Members of Czech PEN, Austrian PEN and German PEN,This letter is addressed especially to you because at various times of Jiří Gruša's life you were his immediate PEN family.
The first shock of his death has now passed. Today I began to think about just how young Jiří was, and therefore how many words will not be written. All of us, I know, are also thinking of Jiří and Sabine; how close they were; how sad we must all be for Sabine.
When I heard the awful news my first thought was of how, as President, he was the perfect evocation of PEN. Here was the quintessential man of the word. And because of those words he was pursued, persecuted, arrested, jailed. His citizenship was stripped from him. He was driven into exile.
And yet, when it was over and the political persecution had ended, he came home and simply set to work with his words – writing and serving the public good.
When we elected him as president, one of his first statements was that “freedom of expression is actually freedom from hatred”. He continually rose above that level at which bitterness for wrongs done may function; the sort of bitterness which clouds principles. And as International President, he immediately spoke up on behalf of “small literatures”, by which he meant “all indigenous literatures”.
There was, as we all experienced, a wonderful irony to Jiří’s view of the world. A constant humour. But it was a complex, literary humour in which irony could play a central role. That irony was part of the nobility with which he rose above short-term
The Irish are a strange race. We are an amalgam of Celts, in a sense like people standing on the edge of a cliff but holding tight nevertheless. There is a general conclusion that all Celts are the same - i.e. have something in common, but in fact that is wrong. Actually we're very proud of our individuality; we don't want to be "of the one tribe."

